


we were made from the heat of the stars

by ilovethisfeeling



Series: we were gods before this [1]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, introspection and romance go hand in hand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-14
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-08 09:49:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6849484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovethisfeeling/pseuds/ilovethisfeeling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts, continues and ends slowly, but it happens nonetheless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we were made from the heat of the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [borrowedphrases](https://archiveofourown.org/users/borrowedphrases/gifts).



It happens very slowly.

Kylo (Ben? He doesn’t really know anymore. His names, the one he was born into and the one he chose blur and become fuzzy around the edges until he’s not entirely sure which he fits into anymore.) wants to blend into the background at the base. He’s spent too long behind a mask to feel comfortable in his own skin; he’s spent too long in the interrogation and isolation units at the base before they finally decided he wasn’t a threat anymore to feel at home wandering the halls freely. He is a fugitive in his own home - because as the General (Leia… his mother… again, the names don’t _fit_ correctly anymore.) tells him, this is his home now, somewhere he will be safe, somewhere that has always been his, somewhere he has rediscovered. It doesn’t feel like home but then nowhere has felt like home since he was twelve and maybe before that, though his memories of _before_ are faded and torn and dirtied until he doesn't know what’s real and what’s fake. He thinks he’d be angry about it, but he’s spent so long being angry and nothing else that all he has left is a sense of apathy that runs bone deep.

Still, it happens. It starts, continues and ends slowly, but it happens nonetheless.

It begins one night in the hangar. Kylo doesn’t know why he comes down here, probably because when they’re going through a period of relative peace in the galaxy such as now, the hangar is quiet at night. The X-Wings stand silent and looming in the half shadows, the runway pointing to the galaxy and sometimes (a lot of the time) Kylo itches to steal a craft and escape. He wonders if he would feel better if he could just leave, if exiling himself like Luke did would save the dim flicker of light that is fighting the dark desperately and help it grow stronger until maybe he won’t feel like he’s drowning in this self-doubt, self-hatred, self-angst sea where the undercurrents are strong and the tide never seems to recede.

Ultimately, he knows that if he were to leave, to disappear, he would be found and he fears that it wouldn’t be by the Resistance. It’s safer, for him and for everyone else if he stays, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t long for an empty planet with crystal clear lakes to absolve him of his sins.

He’s sitting cross-legged, arms relaxed at his sides in the same position that Luke taught him when he was first taken away from his parents, attempting to desperately to hold onto his sanity even as it dripped through and evaporated off his skin intermingled with his sweat. Meditation comes easier now, he finds himself falling and floating, each breath centring his focus whilst blurring the outside world until his doesn’t know where his body ends and the Force begins.

This is how Poe finds him. In the shadows of his X-Wing, illuminated only by the safety lights that never go out, casting a luminescent blue light on his pale features, highlighting the jagged scar  across his cheek that for a long time had been red and ugly and flaring, but now has faded to a fat white line. Not for the first time, he wonders if the scar had been kept open and unable to heal by the biting darkness that had raged through Kylo, and if it healing is a sign that maybe Kylo is slowly returning to the light or at least finding something within him that isn’t twisted and tormented.

He thinks of his own scars, or rather, of one in particular - a small thin line at the nape of his neck from where he’d slammed his head back against the edge of the metal chair he’d been chained to in a desperate attempt to escape Kylo’s own sick brand of torture. His fingers brush over the raised scar almost of their own accord, and despite the fact that it has long since stopped hurting, he still shivers at the memory. He isn’t sure, but he thinks that this is what makes Kylo open his eyes, he doesn’t look surprised or shocked. In fact, he looks like he’s been expecting Poe to make an appearance, except that can’t be true because Poe has been actively avoiding Kylo since he arrived at the base, bedraggled and beaten up and so skittish and scared that Poe almost felt the need to protect him until he remembered that this was also the man who didn’t think twice about forcing his way into his mind, twisting and breaking and destroying everything inside of him until he found what he wanted.

They stay like that, suspended in the near darkness and silence for for must be seconds but what feels like an age until, Kylo raises a hand, palm facing Poe in a universal sign of peace and says, voice quiet and a little rough with disuse, “I can leave if you’d like.” Poe almost takes him up on the offer because he can’t imagine spending any time with this man who was and still is to an extent a monster except Kylo looks just as lost as he feels and there’s that tug again, that pull to comfort and make right what has been wrong for so long.

“No, no… Stay, it’s fine,” He says instead, offering a smile that feels a little more like fear than it does anything else, and Kylo… his expression doesn’t falter so much as it flickers between emotions that Poe can’t quite decipher. “I didn’t know you came down here. This place has been pretty much left alone recently.” It’s understandable why, with the Starkiller Base destroyed and Snoke pushed back to the furthest edges of the galaxy, the General has called for a period of recuperation and rest. The fight isn’t over yet, and it won’t be until Snoke, and the rest of the First Order are wiped out but for now, it’s on hold while the Resistance regroups and figures out their next plan.

When Kylo doesn’t make any moves, Poe makes his way towards him, and settles down in front of him, mirroring his position. Like this, Kylo doesn’t seem so terrifying, the bone-deep fear that settled in Poe after his return hasn’t exactly left, but it’s faded enough that he can look Kylo in the eye and not want to recoil. “That’s why I came - the quiet… it’s… I don’t know, calming, maybe. Luke says I need to find my focus and…” He trails off, his gaze distant and bleak until he seems to snap back to reality, his gaze layering in on Poe’s hand which has travelled back to the scar on his neck. “I’m sorry. I-I realise that isn’t enough, but I am.”

The thing is, Poe believes him.

“I know. You’re right, but I appreciate it.” He shrugs, lets his hand drop to his lap and bites his cheek. “It’s not like I’m the only one who left this thing with any scars.” He gestures to Kylo’s face, to the band of white that cuts across his features. Of the ways Kylo could have reacted, laughing was not what Poe was expecting, but he finds that he quite likes it - it’s not a polite chuckle, it’s a laugh that creases Kylo’s eyes, that makes him bow his head as a rumble of laughter, deep as the rolling currents of the ocean breaks the relative quiet of the hangar. For the first time since Poe can remember, the violent, caged beast that is and was Kylo recedes into something far more human, and far more understandable.

“The girl’s talented.” He comments once he’s composed himself. “Luke’s training her, I hear. I hope that’ll be good for her.” There’s bitterness laced in his words, regret maybe, but Poe can tell that he’s being honest, it’s written in the stillness of his hands and the slight upturn of his lips, it shines dimly in the depths of his eyes.

“She’s doing well, yeah, from what I hear. From what Finn tells me.” Which, in truth, wasn’t much, but Poe can’t begrudge him his secrecy. It seems everything about the Force and the Jedi are shrouded in mystery, and sometimes Poe wonders if it’s a precaution, or just that Jedi’s have a thing for the dramatic. Kylo snorts, and at Poe’s confused frown, he glances away, the light in his eyes dimming slightly. “Are you reading my mind?” He demands, voice growing guarded, and without meaning to he’s pushing himself further away as if distance would save him. Memories come flooding back, and Kylo is not just a man with a beautiful laugh, suddenly he’s _Kylo Ren_ , the monster that kept Poe awake and shaking for months after he’d escaped.

Kylo’s lips thin, his expression shutters and locks down.

Silence ensues.

Until eventually, “I can’t always help it.” If he had any anger left in him, it would be directed at himself right now, but Kylo is drained, the only thing he has left is an age-old yearning for something that has eluded him for so long that he doesn’t even know what it is anymore and the same sense of resignation because he can’t help but destroy everything he touches. “It’s… reflexive. I try to control it, to keep the voices out…” At this, Snoke drifts to the forefront of his mind, and his breath catches before he forces himself to _get it together, get it under control, focusfocusfocus_.

“But it’s like trying not to breathe - no matter how hard you fight it, you end up breathing anyway. Sometimes I hear surface level thoughts; it’s like hearing a ghost in your mind… I can’t control it. Never have been able to.” That last part is an admission of failure as much as it is an explanation and he can taste the bitterness that comes with it in the back of his throat, coating his tongue like bile. He’s a failure, even now. Even now that he’s come home, is trying to make amends, pay reparations in sweat, blood and sometimes tears. He’s a failure, not a Sith, certainly not a Jedi… just something in-between.

Poe is still looking at him like he’s something to be afraid of, and Kylo doesn’t blame him - would worry about him if he didn’t - but there’s something else there too now, a guarded kind of understanding that he doesn’t deserve but is thankful for nonetheless. “To answer your question, though… The Jedi do have a flare for the dramatic, so do the Sith but for very different reasons, I think,” he offers, tone cautious and slightly faltering. “Though maybe it’s the Force that’s dramatic - and we’re just vessels for it to channel through.” He shrugs a shoulder, because it’s something he’s thought about, if he will ever truly be able to control the Force, or if he will only ever be able to keep it in check.

“That’s… right. I’ll keep that one in mind.” Poe says at last, and finally, _finally_ , he relaxes a little. Kylo isn’t entirely sure why this makes him as pleased as it does, but he doesn’t bother analysing the emotion. There’s a pause and he watches as Poe evidently weighs something up, something that he makes a very conscious effort not hear without the man’s consent, but eventually he mumbles something about how Poe can ask anything he wishes and that seems to make up Poe’s mind. “Your scar… I was wondering… When you first came here, it wasn’t healing. At all.” He’s surprised that Poe knows this, wonders how the man could possibly know that the scar Rey has left on him refused to be treated, had stayed ugly and oozing for a long time after the fight. For a long time after he’d returned to the Resistance. The surprise must show on his face (and really, he needs to get better at hiding his emotions, that’s what the mask had been for after all, everything he felt played out to obviously on his face and he had nowhere to hide. Not that he had ever been able to hide from Snoke.) because Poe raises an eyebrow and quirks a grin, “the General kept me updated - I asked her to,” He supplies, “Why’s it healed now? Is it something to do with the Force?”

And that… that’s a very good question, one that Kylo’s been trying to figure out an answer to himself, though he suspects Poe’s guess is as close as he’s every going to get. “I imagine so, though why it only decided to heal me now, I don’t know. The Force… everyone knows it’s a balancing act, that’s the one thing the Jedi and the Sith agree on, but … how it works? How some people are sensitive to it and others aren’t? That’s a mystery, and so are the finer details surrounding it.” He bites his lip, gaze focussing somewhere above Poe’s head as he tries to school his thoughts into something that makes sense. “I don’t understand why it’s healed now - usually, Force users experience heightened reflexes, endurance, quicker healing time but… you’ve heard of Darth Nihilus?”

Poe shakes his head, obviously curious and Kylo wonders if the Resistance knows anything of the Old Days, of the Sith legends who’s presence, if they were still alive, would eclipse his a million times over. “The Lord of Hunger… he and the Force were so intertwined that he became more Force than human, the Force fuelled his hunger, which consumed him so greatly that he destroyed planets to sate it. He became immensely powerful but entirely wrapped up in and consumed by the Force.” It was fascinating, in a gruesome sort of way, to understand just how powerful the Force could be, just how deep you could fall into tit until it was all that was left inside you, until it was all that made you. “My grandfather, even, by the time he died was more machine than man, held together by metal and the Force. The point is I don’t understand how it works, or what it’s motivations are, but I do believe it has a will, a purpose and I believe that the Dark and the Light will continue to push it in directions it doesn’t want to go, and so it will continue to manipulate it’schosen vessels however it pleases, if we allow it to.” It’s not really an answer, but it’s more than he’s spoken to anyone about his theories surrounding the Force in years. And Poe looks interested, judging by the grudgingly impressed curl of his lips and the glint in his eyes.

He lets out a low whistle, leaning back on his palms as he regards Kylo slowly. Something inside the man lights up when he talks about the Force, about Force Sensitives, and he can understand why his fascination with the darker side of it would have been unsettling for his parents, but honestly, Poe finds himself curious to know more about it, about what Kylo thinks of the Force, because these aren’t discussions he’s ever had with anyone before and that in itself is enough to make Poe want to continue talking to Kylo, to get to know him, to try and understand him, his own fear be damned. “That’s something else. No one’s ever spoken about it like that… Most people don’t tend to talk about it at all. Unless it’s relevant to a mission.” He sighs, drags a hand through his hair and bites back a yawn, which Kylo catches nonetheless.

“You should go to bed - I’m sorry for holding you up,” He murmurs, rising to his feet and, after a couple of seconds of debating with himself, offers a hand out to Poe, who hesitantly accepts. Standing, Kylo should tower over Poe, but the man seems to curl in on himself, making himself smaller, and less noticeable, if that was even possible. Poe thinks that maybe Kylo has spent far too long trying to be greater, more powerful than he felt to honour a creature as insidious as Snoke that now he’s on his own, he doesn’t know how to be himself.

Maybe this hunched up, scared wreck of a man is who he truly is, which is a thought that Poe would rather not have, especially around someone who apparently can’t not read minds. Kylo shoots him a look, and despite himself, despite the intrusion and the flare of panic he feels knowing that Kylo has heard his thoughts again, Poe smiles softly. “Night, Kylo.” He says at last, letting go of the other’s hand and turning to leave the hangar.

So that’s how it begins, and how it continues. Poe doesn’t know exactly how it happens, but they form an unspoken arrangement, and most night finds the two of them sitting in the hangar chatting quietly. Mostly they swap stories - or rather, Poe tells Kylo stories - about his childhood, fighting first for the Republic and then for the Resistance. He tells him about the Force-sensitive tree that his mother planted, he tells him about the first time his grandma taught him to make tamales and tortitas de yuca and about when he comes across the ingredients, he makes sure to make them.

In return, Kylo tells him about the years he can remember being at home (“everything _before_ … It’sbasically gone. All I truly remember are the emotions.”) He tells him about obscure bits of history that he’s fascinated by, about the mechanics of TIE fighters. He doesn’t talk about Snoke or anything to do with the First Order, clams up whenever Poe asks, never gets angry, just quiet and pensive and sullen. He does talk about the training he’s started with his uncle, complains about the advice Luke gives him (“You’d think after what happened the last time, he’d know that I’m not the best at solving his riddles.”) and about the bot that his mother has set on his trail (“Not as subtle as it thinks it’s being… I don’t know if it’s to make sure I’m not sneaking intel to the First Order or see if I’m ‘adjusting’”).

Under the solitary blue safety light, Kylo talks more than he has done in years. He laughs too, something which Poe later finds out from Leia he’s never done in her presence. Poe isn’t sure what exactly to make of these near-nightly meetings, but he finds himself enjoying more than he’d thought he would, though perhaps that isn’t saying much considering Kylo isn’t the most charismatic of people and his reputation precedes him quite considerably.

“You _stole_ the Falcon?” The words slip unbidden and incredulous from his lips before he can think twice, and Kylo shoots him an amused glance before nodding slowly.

“Well, I used the word ‘borrowed’, but I suppose that works too.” He deadpans with a shrug. “I didn’t get far, my… Han caught me trying to get down the runway.” It hadn’t been his finest moment, but Kylo likes to think that the old man had been secretly proud of him. “It was a long time ago. I can barely remember it if I’m honest.” He muses, wondering if his memories of before will ever fully return or if he’ll be always left with these gaping crevices where childhood memories should be.

Poe stretches out on the floor, leaning back on his hands to support his balance, and in the soft blue glow of the lights, Kylo can see the familiar spatter of scars left from a blaster. Without giving himself time to think about it (because when has he ever thought about his actions? Reckless is what the General had called him once, and Kylo thinks it’s the most accurate description of his personality that anyone has ever given him) he reaches out, brushes his fingers over the scars and relishes in the soft gasp that escapes Poe’s lips. “How’d this happen?” He asks quietly, glancing up into Poe’s eyes, and finding himself transfixed.

Poe swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing perhaps a little uncertainly, but perhaps a little in anticipation too, and Kylo wonders if he’s crossing a boundary that shouldn’t be crossed, but it’s too late now and he still hasn’t taken his hand off of Poe’s arm, fingers stroking the crook of his elbow slowly and Poe isn’t pushing him away, which must be a good sign.

Mustn’t it?

Silence isn’t unfamiliar to either of them, especially when they are in each other’s company - they’re learning each other slowly, understanding each other at their own pace, but the silence that falls around them now feels different somehow. It feels like they’re on the edge of something, that Kylo thinks, as he looks into Poe’s eyes, he might like to fall into. “… Recon mission that went slightly awry. Hostile planet - the folks weren’t keen on the Resistance and once they figured out who I was with… They were less than hospitable.” Poe says at last, not breaking Kylo’s gaze, and it almost feels too much, and yet it’s not enough at the same time, and this is… this is something that Kylo isn’t familiar with. He doesn’t know what to do, but he doesn’t want to stop either. “I got away, though.”

“You always do. Wouldn’t be the best pilot in the Resistance if you didn’t,” He murmurs, running his hand slowly down Poe’s arm until his hand is covering Poe’s and there’s a question in his eyes and on the tip of his tongue that he can’t quite find the words to ask. As it turns out, Poe seems to know what he’s asking without him needing to, because without Kylo quite knowing how it happens, Poe is suddenly a lot closer. He brings his free hand to Kylo side, fingers brushing over the dark fabric of his shirt as he bites his lip. “Is this okay?” He asks quietly, words barely above a whisper and Kylo nods because he’s never been more certain in his uncertainty that this is okay.

And then Poe is kissing him, chaste a soft and so achingly gentle that Kylo feels like he might splinter. He trails soft open mouthed touches across his jaw, then the corner of his mouth before finally they meet somewhere in the middle and Kylo curls a hand around Poe’s neck, careful and light and ever so slightly scared. His fingers run over the raised line of the scar that he was responsible for, and he feels guilt well up in his gut before Poe traces the pale jagged edge that slices his face in two.

He feels like he’s flying and drowning all at the same time.

It’s the closest to absolution Kylo thinks he’ll ever come.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So this is for borrowedphrases as part of the knightpilot exchange - I really hope you like it and it's not too far off what you were after! 
> 
> The prompt was: Poe and Ben explore the scars on each other's skin, sharing stories about them, maybe clamming up about the particularly bad memory ones, not ready to talk about those yet. Maybe just tracing fingertips over them, kissing them, accepting each other completely, even the dark parts, the things they're not proud of.
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading!


End file.
